The Eulogy
by Adarian
Summary: After months of just the two Wardens on the road together, Alistair finds himself preparing to talk about his relationship with the Hero of Ferelden. In light of her death, he finds that it is difficult to talk about someone that was at times so cruel, so hard. But in the end, he tells the story of how they fell in love.


Anora told me I would be expected to say something at the funeral. For the past year, it had been just the two of us, Warden Mahariel and I. She had no friends to speak for her, no companions, no admirers, there were no Grey Wardens.

Just me.

But what was I supposed to say? Juin Mahariel was a mystery to everyone, including me. She was not a gentle woman. She terrified me. She was like a half feral dog; I never knew when she would bite. But she had moments of grace, especially near the end. In her last moments, she gave her life for mine.

So this is all I can say about her. This is the story of how we fell in love.

Juin Mahariel was wild, Duncan warned me. I would recognize her at first sight. She was vile, blood thirsty, and she had been conscripted against her will. I would have to look for her, possibly drag her through the Joining by her throat.

Yet when I first saw her, I saw a little Dalish woman. She had this bright white hair against her dark skin, these faded red tattoos across her forehead. She looked up with me with great disdain, a stern glare across her face. I didn't know what to say to her. I thought she might just stab me then. I saw her kill a man even that day for simply not dying fast enough.

When she came through the Joining, she gasped like a drowning woman. She grasped out at us, as if to drag us down with her.

She spoke to neither of us, remaining alone as she prepared for battle. We were together when the darkspawn overcame us. I woke first, petrified that I was alone, but I saw her breathing beside me. I had never been so relieved to see another living thing.

She cast away Morrigan the minute she could. She threw away every attempt at help. She cursed everyone that might offer a hand or a kind word. If she knew there was a chance I would leave her, she would not have rested until I was gone. She rarely spoke and then when she did, she insulted me...or someone else.

She abandoned Redcliffe, she killed that poor child, she destroyed the Circle. She tossed away lives like they were waste. She killed without remorse, without feeling. She never explained herself, never justified. She simply did what she thought was best. She took my protests silently and moved on.

I was surprised when she spared the assassin's life. She made a jab at me that she took in strays, but she had been careful not to accept another into our lives. It had been only us for months now. It was not as if she opened to him, but she treated him with an indifference that I craved. She looked at me with ire, him with pity. I wanted any scrap of kindness from her and hated him only more for it.

It was only when we were with the Dalish that things began to change. She had been gentler with them. I had seen her smile for the first time then, chatting with a young hunter. She had been passionate in protecting these people. It was the first time I had seen her care about anyone other than herself. I felt conflicted. I had hated her for so long and now that to see that there was something else, something beyond her selfishness...it infuriated me.

The first night away from the Dalish, the darkspawn attacked our camp. It was not a large group; it was easy enough to disband them. But yet she stood there at the edge of the camp, talking to one of the creatures. I came closer, staring in awe. I did not know what surprised me more: a talking darkspawn or Juin, crying hysterically as she pleaded with it.

When the shriek attacked her, she did not fight back. She stood, crying. The assassin ran forward and she protested, trying to push him away. I caught her in my arms, holding her to my chest as the elf slayed the thing.

She wailed, her arms crossed still as I held her, my hand supporting the back of her head. We were alone then, the first time I was conscious of that fact.

"Who was he?" I asked quietly.

She whispered, "I knew he was alive, I knew...I knew..."

She pushed away from my chest, turning from me as she restrained her crying. I stood by the fire alone, a sense of utter confusion overwhelming me.

That night, I laid awake, thinking about her. I eventually got up, deciding to check on her, but I heard the sounds coming from her tent. The assassin was in her bed with her. I felt ashamed, turning away blushing, but the sounds coming from her throat made me ache.

I couldn't sleep, thinking of her mouth on mine, her hands on my skin. I felt disgusted with myself, but I could not stop.

I heard them arguing in the morning. She had made a mistake. She wanted him to leave. He pleaded with her to stay, saying that it would be a death sentence for her to cast him out. She let him stay, but she did not look at him again.

It was not long until the Crows met up with him. He betrayed us. She killed him herself.

We did not stay in the city, but went back to camp that night.

It seemed unfair for me to yell at her then, but I was so angry.

I screamed at her, saying she was not good enough for anyone, that she was not worthy of being a Grey Warden.

She accused me of relying on her, that I did nothing.

We shouted and screamed because there were only the two of us. There was no one to intervene, no one to pull us apart.

We stood, our chests heaving as we stared at each other. Her eyes glanced at my lips before she met mine again.

She said coldly, "If you don't want to be here, leave."

But I could not leave her. I wanted to kiss her; I wanted to pull her into my tent and bed. I turned and walked away before I did something foolish.

To my surprise, she apologized the next morning. We fought again by the evening, arguing about Duncan, but she apologized again. The tension was starting to dissipate. To my surprise, I was beginning to like her.

She came with me when I met my sister. I was distraught, I felt absolutely alone in this world.

And then she kissed me.

We barely made it to the Inn, stumbling over each other as we fell into bed together. She was gentle with me, kind. Her caresses were soft, her kisses tender. I laid in her arms and for the first time in my life, I felt utterly loved. She nestled against my chest. We made love again, her always guiding. When my body met hers, I felt whole.

When we were back on the road, our camp was only our tent. We were the only person in each other's lives. We were each other's world. We bickered and spat, but we always found ourselves back to that tent, whispering apologizes between heated kisses. I imagined what it would be like when the war was over, but it was hard to want anything but her beside me.

When Eamon told me to be king, she told him to go to hell. She was this angry, protective bodyguard. She spoke on my behalf, but I never minded. I had trouble asking for what I wanted, but she had no difficulty speaking her mind. The others spoke about her with disdain, disgust. Eamon despised her. I never defended her, I had seen the things she had done, how she treated those who stood in our way.

But she would laugh with me. She was generous to strangers. She played with children in the street. I saw her change, I saw her soften. I saw her unfurl, petal by petal, and I fell more and more in love with her.

I never wanted to be away from her.

The night before we marched, she came to me. I couldn't sleep, I had been pacing, knowing it was likely we would both die. She tried to tell me then, but I saw the dawning on her face, the quiet terror as she ran from the room. I followed, only to find her standing in her room, alone in front of the fire.

I held her, kissing down her neck. We made love, knowing it might be-that it was, the last time.

We went into the city alone. There was no fanfare, no cheering. Just us.

In the end, Riordan was not there to take the blow. I begged the Maker for him to appear, but in the end, it was just us. As it always had been.

I was running to take the blow, but she stopped me. She kissed me, hard and deep, before she pushed me away. I couldn't reach her before she fell, the dragon screaming. I held her in my arms, a peaceful look on her face. I cried. I cried and held her to me. Others came, but I couldn't speak. I didn't know how to talk to anyone else. I didn't want anyone else.

Anora told me she had been surprised it was Juin. The elven woman had been cool, calculated, brutish. Juin never said that she loved me. I always assumed...I assumed that I loved her more than she loved me. I thought she would let me die.

There were little words of praise for her and I had no energy to say more.

It was only when the clan came that I started to understand. The Keeper told me of Tamlen. She told me that Juin had been torn from them, swearing that she would not leave until she found him, that she blamed the Wardens, Duncan, everyone for his dead. She had not been able to save him, the love of her life.

But she could save you, the keeper said softly.

I let her hold me, this little old Dalish woman, and I felt like I could mourn. She had been there at the beginning of the life of this vengeful soul. I had been there at the end. And in the end, she had found peace. She could forgive me, forgive the Wardens. She could even forgive herself.

oOoOoOo

Alistair held the paper in his hand, listening to Anora's speech. He smirked sadly. None of these people knew her, none of them liked her. They didn't know her as good or kind. They knew nothing.

He looked upon her face and he longed to touch her, to hold her once last time before they entombed her so far away.

When Anora turned to him to speak, he folded up the paper and shook his head. There was nothing he wanted to say.


End file.
